


Four After Midnight

by tiptoe39



Series: The King Sequence [2]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder's had a bad day. The shower will make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://icalynn.livejournal.com/profile)[**icalynn**](http://icalynn.livejournal.com/)'s CEO day at [](http://community.livejournal.com/heroes_exchange/profile)[**heroes_exchange**](http://community.livejournal.com/heroes_exchange/). Sort of a sequel to [Needful Things](http://community.livejournal.com/tiptoesmut/27560.html) \- insofar as it continues Stephen King title theme. Unbeta'd.

One after midnight and Mohinder steps into the bathroom, weary and grave. The things he's seen tonight are things no man should have to speak of. And he won't speak of them; he'll simply stand beneath the showerhead and let the water wash the worst of it away. The rattle of the pipes and the sputtering shriek that the showerhead emits will drown out the noises that ring in his head, at least for a few moments.

At two after midnight he'll pretend not to hear the clicking of a door, footsteps in the hall outside. He'll pretend he doesn't know who's slipping into the bathroom, what the rustle of clothes dropped on the floor will reveal.

But at three after midnight, when arms come around him from behind and the intermittent warmth of water is replaced with the embracing heat of skin against his, he'll settle into those arms like they're home, exhaling and letting himself go limp. He'll open his eyes to watch the fingers dance across his collarbones, his chest, rubbing tension from shoulders and wrists, and he'll sigh in relief.

At four after midnight, he'll no longer be alone.

"Bad day?" The voice that rumbles into his ear is a voice that by all rights should be one in his nightmares. But they have an understanding, the two of them, and that's why they have this place. Here the past and the future give way to their needs, their hearts' desires right now. And his desire is for the voice that he should hate, the one voice that comforts him most.

"Do you want to talk about --"

"No." He doesn't have to put up a front here, doesnt have to pretend to be stronger or more stubborn than he feels like being. "Just hold me."

"Always." No, not always. Only now, only here. But it's good enough.

Kisses dot his hair, slide along his neck, and he sighs. The touch of lips are gentler and warmer than the water, and he feels cleansed already, able to close his mind and body to the pain of earlier. When a hand curls around his waist, fingers feathering down toward his hipbone, he sighs and jerks a little bit. He turns his head to nibble at the strong muscle of upper arm and shoulder.

"Beautiful," whispers the voice above him.

He moans. Praise doesn't usually turn him on. But tonight he needs it. He wants to feel special, loved, valued in a world that too often doesn't understand just how much he puts on the line every day.

He's beginning to squirm with the soft touch of the fingerpads on his hips. His cock bobs to fullness. "I need," he whispers.

"I know." And the hand wraps around his erection.

"Ah." It's a sound of relief as much as desire, and Mohinder leans his cheek on one powerful bicep and justs his hips forward, into the gentle rhythm. Root to tip and back over again, a predictable, reassuring rhythm, excitement along with familiarity. His moans are low and quivering, not the long, tortured gasps of desire that sometimes ignite the air in the bedroom. This is different.He needs something different.

The kisses continue, all along his shoulders and back. He feels the press of an erection against his back, and comfort kicks up a gear into a sort of giddy need. He wants to be not alone, even in his own body. He wants to feel the proof of it. And so he juts his hips back until guttural grunts and heavy breaths are sounding in his ear along with his own cries.

"I need," he says again, more insistently this time.

This time, the answer is, "Me, too."

He hears the whip of an object through the air and holds his breath until he feels the slickness of fingers against his body. Thrusting backward, helping them find purchase, he twists his hips, sighing again in muddled desire and relief as he's penetrated, gently stretched.

He leans forward, allows himself to be draped over one arm as the other's busy opening him. Soon that hand will be back on his erection, driving him crazy. But he can wait.

Just before the moment, he gasps the name that has not yet been spoken.

"Sylar."

And now there's a thick, hot cock finding its way into him, and he's burning and gasping. This isn't just comfort now, it's relief and release from a day's worth of tension. He gasps and groans. "More," he hears himself say. "Please. More." The hand is moving more frantically on his cock now. There's just still low grunts and panting breaths behind him, but that's all right, that's Sylar's way. His is different. His is desperate cries, begging, pleading for more. But tonight even that is subdued, as he shudders all over with the sensations coursing through him and trusts Sylar to hold him, to keep him from falling apart.

Sylar bites when he comes, teeth sinking into his shoulder, a bright burst of pain that turns everything bittersweet red. Mohinder gives a long string of _oh-h-h_ as his climax, until now resting quietly at the bottom of the ocean of feeling, begins to roar forward in a wave. When it is upon him he shivers and tosses his head back onto Sylar's shoulder, his face contorted in agony.

It's sad almost when Sylar pulls out of him. It's always sad when the touch ends. But it's different now than it was before, even though he can no longer feel a body behind his or a body in his. Because it's far past four after midnight now, and he can close his eyes and know nonetheless that he's not alone.


End file.
